


The Baby at 221b

by irisqod



Series: The Baby at 221b [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Birth, Doctor!John, Established Relationship, M/M, Parenthood, Sexy Times, squeamish!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 05:22:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisqod/pseuds/irisqod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Her face was bathed in sweat. “God, I want to push, can I please push? I think I’d feel better if I could.”</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Maggie

It had been raining for hours and showed no signs of stopping anytime soon. Sherlock had no cases on at the moment, so he and John were enjoying a rare day off.

“The rain is starting to make my shoulder ache. It makes me feel old,” John commented more to himself than to Sherlock.

“You are old, dearest.” Sherlock commented back.

“Oi! I’m not even fifty yet. I said I _feel_ old, not I _am_ old. Rude.”

They bickered like this often, comfortable with each other and knowing neither was serious. They had been friends for nearly seven years, and had been married for a little over two.

“Well, you are older than me.” Sherlock got up, “Tea, love?” He let his hand trail over John’s shoulder as he passed him on his way to the kitchen.

When the bell rang down stairs, it startled them both. 

“Who would be out in this rain? I’ll get it.” John bounded down the stairs to prove he wasn’t old.

When John opened the door, a soaking wet woman all but fell into his arms. He got her into the entryway and looked at her. No, not a woman at all. Just a girl, seventeen or eighteen at the most. She was petite, with short blonde hair and blue eyes. 

“Sherlock! I need your help down here please!” 

The girl was shivering and breathing hard, like she had run the whole way to Baker Street. John peeled the wet blanket she was covered by off of her and tossed it in a corner. 

Sherlock came down and greeted the girl by name, “Hello Margaret.”

“You know her?” John asked, still supporting the wet girl.

“Yes, she is part of my homeless network. Margaret Young.”

The girl moaned in John’s arms.

“Are you alright?” He asked. His brain was slipping into Doctor mode.

“Hnnnghaah,” She answered. She was gripping John’s arms so tightly that her knuckles were white.

“Margaret, how close are they?” Sherlock asked.

“Five, maybe four minutes I guess. Call me Maggie.”

Not only was she homeless and soaking wet, she was hugely pregnant and in active labour.

“Who? How close are who?” John feared criminals were chasing Margaret for some reason and that was why Sherlock had asked about proximity.

“No, John. She is in labour.”

“Oh…?” John held her out at arms length and finally saw her, all of her.

“Oh.” His shock lasted for a heartbeat and then he was Doctor Watson-Holmes.

“Come on ‘Lock, help me get her upstairs. I need to get her dry and warmed up.”

They helped the laboring girl up the stairs to the flat, pausing once along the way to let her ride out a contraction.

“Sherlock, go turn on the shower for me please?” John was leading the girl to their room. “Margaret, you are going to be fine. I will have Sherlock call an ambulance for you.”

“NO!” She screamed at him. “No ambulance, no hospital. I won’t go. I’ll walk out that door if you call one.” Maggie squatted down, planted her forearms on the bed and moaned through another contraction. When it subsided she said, “I came here because I know you are a doctor. You can take care of me, can’t you?”

“Margaret, have you had any prenatal care?” He helped her to stand and got her wet jacket and scarf off of her. “Sit down.”

“Call me Maggie. And no, not much.” She was shaking her head. “But I nicked a bottle of pre-natal vitamins from the chemist.”

John scrubbed his hand over his face, “Alright I can do this. It’s been years since I’ve had to deliver a baby, but I suspect everything is still in the same place.” This got a weak laugh from Maggie.

Sherlock came out of the bathroom followed by billows of steam. “Is she alright, John?” 

“Yes, she’s fine. Maggie is going to have her baby here, and we are going to help.” He held his hand out to Sherlock, “Come here, love.” Sherlock crossed the room and took John’s hand. “I need you to get my medical bag. Not the one in the kitchen, the big one from my old room.” 

Sherlock didn’t move. Then Maggie let out a scream that sounded like an animal was loose in 221B. He let go of John’s hand and ran upstairs for the medical bag. The big one. The one he knew John could use to set a broken limb or take out an appendix if he had to.

John was busy helping Maggie out of her wet clothing and into the shower. “Thank you for helping me out. I didn’t have anywhere else I could go.” John wondered why a hospital was out of the question. 

“Maggie, did you use any drugs after you found out you were pregnant? Is that why you won’t go to hospital?” John was worried that he’d be delivering a baby that would need more care than he could provide here at the flat.

“No, never did drugs at all.” She looked angrily at him. “I won’t go just because I don’t want to. Alright?”

“Alright,” John didn’t want her bolting if he pressed the matter further. “Let’s get you into the shower. It will warm you up and help you relax. Do you want any help?” Maggie looked at him with eyebrows knitted together.

“I am a doctor, remember? But I suppose I could have our landlady come up and help you if you want?”

“No, I can manage on my own.” 

“Fine. I leave you to it.” John put out a fresh towel for her and went to see what had happened to Sherlock.

The detective was pacing in the sitting room, the medical bag on the coffee table.

“Hey, are you okay?” John stepped into Sherlock’s path and stopped him with a hand on his chest.

“Is she alright? That _sound_ she made, John. It was horrible. Is that normal?”

“Yes, she is fine. She is in pain. Women in labour can be loud. And sweary. The only other time I delivered a baby was during my residency and Christ could that woman swear. Called the father every awful name she could come up with. Blamed everything on the poor bloke and even tried to bite him.” He shook his head at the memory. Sherlock looked stricken.

“Its going to be fine. She seems in good health, I’ll get a more thorough history once she’s out of the shower.”

As if on cue, another bellow came from Maggie, amplified by the tile shower enclosure. Both men looked at each other and grimaced.

“Do you know anything about her? She flatly refuses to let us call 999 or go to the hospital.”

Giving Sherlock something to deduce got his brain back on track.

“She’s been on her own since 14. Abusive stepfather, alcoholic mother who turned a blind eye. Sent to live with an aunt or grandmother for a while when she was younger. Grandmother more likely, you saw the hand knit scarf. Grandmother died, after a prolonged stay in hospital or long-term care facility, hence the distrust of hospitals.” He seemed more himself thank heaven; John didn’t need him as a second patient. “She won’t tell us who the father is, wants to protect his reputation.” Sherlock took a deep breath and smiled, “I feel better.” 

The water turned off and John went to check on Maggie. She was standing in the bathroom wrapped in a towel, gripping the sink so hard the tendons in her forearms stood out from wrist to elbow. “Hhhnnnnnghaaah.” She was rocking her hips and had her eyes clamped shut. “Fuuuuuck!” she announced after the pain had backed off a little: “My water broke as I was getting out of the shower.” John glanced over at the bathmat and floor. It was clear. He asked her anyway, “Was the fluid all clear?” She nodded.

John stuck his head out the door, “Sherlock, please go back up to my old room and get the towels and extra bedding please.”

“Maggie, I’m going to go get you something to wear, I’ll be right back.” John went to fetch a T-shirt and his dressing gown. Unfortunately, his was in the laundry so he grabbed Sherlock’s. He stripped the bed while she changed.

Sherlock came back with a pile of bedding and towels. “Why is she wearing my dressing gown?” he asked.

John was looking through his medical supplies, “Because mine is in the wash.” He pulled out a surgical drape with a little flourish. “Here we go. Help me make up the bed, will you please?” Maggie gave another animal-like moan from the bathroom doorway. “Quickly”.

Once they had the bed sorted, John spread out the drape and led Maggie over. “Go ahead and get comfortable, I need to take a history and do an exam.” He went to wash his hands.

Maggie climbed on the bed, adjusted the pillows and nestled in. “Would you like a sheet for your legs?”

“Yes, pleeeese! Oowww. Ssssss. Jesus this hurts.” She managed through gritted teeth. “They are starting to come right on top of each other.”

“Right then, I’d better get on with the exam. I’ll do the history as we go. I’ll tell you what I’m doing before I do it. No surprises, okay? I’m going to check to make sure the baby is head down, so I will need to touch your belly, alright?” She nodded.

John placed his hands on the girl’s lower abdomen and palpated it, happy to find the baby’s head was indeed pointed the right direction. He could feel another contraction starting; the muscles under his touch were starting to get hard. “Oh God here comes another one, Aaggh.” She grabbed at the bedding and bunched up her face. She panted through the pain.

“Try and relax your face as much as you can, alright? I’m going to do the internal exam.”

He pulled on a pair of Nitril gloves, “Knees up, please”. He realized Sherlock was still standing there, watching. “Love, bring me the sheet for her legs?”

Sherlock brought it over and held it out to John. “Please,” he said, holding up his gloved hands, “just cover her legs for me.” He unfolded the sheet and draped it over the girls’ drawn up knees. 

“Margaret, may I stay?” Sherlock asked her quietly. She nodded. He brought a chair over so he could sit by the head of the bed. She took his hand.

“Let your knees fall to the sides, alright? I need to do an internal exam and see just how far along you’ve gotten.” He pushed the sheet up a bit for better access. One look told him everything he needed to know.

“This baby is in a hurry to get here, and he or she has lots of hair.”

 

To be continued…


	2. Its a Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her face was bathed in sweat. “God, I want to push, can I please push? I think I’d feel better if I could.”

“This baby is in a hurry to get here, and he or she has lots of hair.” John was working quickly to get what he needed close to hand. 

“Sherlock, could you go and fetch me a basin and a warm wet flannel?”

Maggie gripped onto Sherlock’s hand and wouldn’t let go. She looked at him with eyes filled with fear. “Please,” was all she managed before another contraction rolled over her and she grimaced. The grip on his hand was becoming painful.

When the pain receded he said, “Margaret, John needs my help so that he can help you. Please let go. I will come right back.” He left to get what John asked for.

“Okay.” Her face was bathed in sweat. “God, I want to push, can I please push? I think I’d feel better if I could.”

“Are you comfortable where you are? Do you want to move?” John wanted her to be in control as much as she could be. It was her body and it knew what it was doing. He trusted that it would let her know what she needed.

“Let me try this, but please, can I push?” 

He pushed her knees up and back towards her chest and said, “Get your hands under your knees and pull back. Deep breath in, chin down and go for it.”

Maggie didn’t need to be told twice. She took in a huge breath, held it and pushed for all she was worth. “Shiiiiit I want this over.” 

Sherlock came back into the room and gave John the basin and warm cloth.

“I want to move, get off the bed. This is no good. Too soft.” She was moving towards the edge of the bed and Sherlock was there to help her. He took her hands and as she swiveled around, and got a good look at what was happening. The colour dropped from his face.

“Sherlock, are you alright? I don’t need another patient right now.” John was surprised that his husband, a man who kept body parts in the fridge, was getting woozy over the sight of a baby being born.

“I’m fine, John. Don’t be ridiculous.” He shook his head and came back to himself. “Tell me what to do.”

“Let Maggie tell you where she wants you. I need to be at the business end of this, so to speak. You’re the boss Maggie, where do you want to be?” She was working herself out of the blue dressing gown (to Sherlock’s relief – it would be ruined otherwise) and tossed it away.

With out a word Maggie dropped and squatted on the floor by the bed. Another wave of pain was sweeping over her and she grabbed Sherlock’s arms. He sat on the bed. John told her to push again while he placed the cloth against her body. “My hand is where it is for support. The warm cloth is to help you relax and stretch.” The baby was really coming fast and he wanted to make sure she didn’t tear.

She let the held breath out in a rush, pulled in another and pushed again, grunting with the effort. She was looking into Sherlock’s face; their eyes locked together but she wasn’t seeing him at all. Maggie had gone somewhere inside herself. 

“Maggie, the baby is right there. Just a few more pushes and you’ll be a mum.” 

She groaned, pushed and John said, “Stop! The baby’s head is out, I need to suction its nose an mouth a little.” Which he did with a bulb syringe from his bag.

“Ready Maggie? On the next one give it all you’ve got.” As the next contraction began, Maggie pushed, almost coming to a standing position, Sherlock rose with her, still looking her squarely in the eyes.

“Aaaaahhhh” She roared onto the room, her body yawned to let the child pass. John caught the slippery little body of the baby as it slid into his waiting hands. 

He wrapped the wee one in a clean towel and suctioned out the rest of the fluid from its nose and mouth. It started to wail. “That’s what I like to hear!” John was smiling from ear to ear. Sherlock helped Maggie to turn around and sit with her back propped against the bed.

“What is it?” She asked.

“It’s a little boy.” John held the baby out to the tired new mother, “He’s perfect, all the parts are where they aught to be. Hand me the basin, please ‘Lock.”

Maggie held her baby boy, brushing a finger over the damp ginger hair. He was still crying. “Shh, its alright. You are going to be fine.” She was crying right along with her son.

“Last bit here Maggie,” John had the basin ready as she delivered the afterbirth. He went about the business of clamping off the cord and cutting the baby free of its mother. Sherlock gave John a look that said ‘save that for me’ and John, longsuffering dutiful husband that he was, nodded to say ‘okay, but I don’t want to know about it, alright?’

“Let’s get Maggie more comfortable, love, hold him while I help her get back into the bed.” John took the baby from Maggie and handed him to Sherlock. 

Sherlock had never held a new born baby in his entire life. John didn’t know that of course and no one would have expected he hadn’t. He looked perfectly natural cradling the baby in his arms. 

The sight made John’s heart ache.

 

To be continued…


	3. I Don't Know What I'm Doing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This child isn’t the result of some, indiscretion, on either of your parts, I hope.”

With Maggie settled in their bed, Sherlock handed the little crying bundle back to her.

Sherlock’s phone rang, answering it he barked, “What do you want Mycroft?”

John led him out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. “Give her some quiet, ‘kay?”

“It has come to my attention that there is a baby at 221b. This child isn’t the result of some, indiscretion, on either of your parts, I hope.” 

Sherlock looked at John and said, “The surveillance is still active in here, John. We will have to remove the cameras, again.” And to Mycroft, “No, brother dear. You are not an Uncle.” He rolled his eyes at John for effect. “If you want to be helpful, send a car around to collect Mrs. Hudson.” And he hung up.

“Mycroft thinks the baby is one of ours?” John, giggled, then stopped. “Wait. Its not, is it?” He grinned at Sherlock to let him know he was kidding.

“No, John. Of course not. You saw his hair. Really.” He smiled back at John. “Make a list of what Margaret and the baby will need. Mycroft is sending a car to pick up Mrs. Hudson.”

“Right.” He moved to get a pen and paper, stopped in front of Sherlock and kissed him lightly. “Thank you for the help in there.”

“You are welcome.”

The sound of footsteps on the stairs broke the moment. Mrs. Hudson came in without knocking, “Did I hear a baby in here? What have you boys done now?”

Sherlock brought her up to speed while John made a list of things like diapers and some new clothes for Maggie. It was still early afternoon so the shops would still be open. “Sherlock, give her your card.”

After Mrs. Hudson left, John checked on his patients.

“How’re you feeling?” He checked her vitals and examined the newborn. He was amazed at each perfect little finger and toe, the tiny mouth and ears like pink shells. He looked fine, but John would dearly love to get him checked out by a proper baby doctor. 

“Can we take you to the hospital, just for a proper check up?” her face darkened and he knew the answer was ‘no’. He didn’t press the issue.  
“Our housekeeper, sorry, landlady has gone out to get some things for the baby. And for you. I had to guess at your size.” He re-wrapped the infant and gave him back. “Do you have a name for him?”

Maggie looked a John and burst into tears. “I can’t do this!” she choked out. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” John wasn’t prepared for a meltdown, but tried to be reassuring. He sat on the bed and put his arm over her shoulder in an awkward lopsided hug. 

“Lots of women feel this way. Your body has just been through a huge hormone shift, and it will take a while for things to settle themselves out.”

“But I have no job, no permanent place to go, I can’t do that to a baby. He didn’t ask to be here.” John gave her a tissue from the nightstand.

“What about family?”

“Ha! They are the reason I’ve been out there alone. I can’t go back there. That son of a bitch my mother married would be all over me again, and she wouldn’t lift a finger to stop him. Now that my Gran is gone, I have no one.” She blotted at her eyes and sniffled.

“You can stay here until you figure out what you want to do.” John gave he a little squeeze, “Let me know if you need anything. Do you want something to eat?”

“Oh, yes please. Anything would be fine.”

He realized that the baby would need to eat too. “Do you know how to nurse him?”

“I think he can figure it out on his own.” Maggie shifted the baby a little and lifted the hem of the t-shirt and the baby latched on and began to eat. John drew up the sheet to cover them both. 

“Yes, I think he’s got it sorted.” He left them to it.

*

Mrs. Husdon returned that evening with bags of diapers, dummies, bottles, formula, newborn sized clothes, some clothes and a nice night-gown for Maggie along with a bottle of Guinness.

John was unpacking and trying to figure out a safe “experiment-free” zone for the baby’s things when he found the bottle of stout. 

“Oh, that’s lovely,” he said, making to open the bottle.

“Don’t you dare! That’s for Maggie,” Mrs. Hudson snatched the Guinness away from a very disappointed and confused John. “What?”

“I may not have had any children of my own, John Watson, but I had siblings. Lots of them. Mother always had a pint after a new baby arrived. It will help her milk come in. Now, introduce me to the girl for heaven’s sake.”

So he did. Maggie seemed to relax a little more for having someone female help her with the baby. The beer didn’t hurt either. Mrs. Hudson shooed him out of the room. “We’ll be fine dear. I’ll get Maggie set for the night and show myself out. You did a good thing here, John.” The woman who had come to be like a mother to him put her hand on his cheek. He covered it with his own and was suddenly missing his own mother, terribly. 

“Go find Sherlock.”

Shit. Where’d he go? Thought John. He hadn’t seen him since He gave Mrs. Hudson his bank card.

Standing still in the sitting room, he could hear pacing coming from upstairs. He took the stairs two at a time and found Sherlock in his old bedroom.

Sherlock was wild looking - out of breath like he’d been pacing away in here for hours, hair sticking up in wild curls and his throat was a deep pink. And the look on his face? Well…

“Oh God,” was all John managed to say before Sherlock was on him, pressing himself to John and grinding into him. His mouth on John’s was hungry, his tongue forcing its way past John’s lips.

 

To be continued…


	4. Worked Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sherlock, I’m going to come all over us if you keep that up.” John’s breath was coming in short gasps.

“Oh God,” was all John managed to say before Sherlock was on him, pressing himself to John and grinding into him. His mouth on John’s was hungry, his tongue forcing its way past John’s lips.

“Hey, slow down, I’m not going anywhere.” John said once he was free of Sherlock’s searing kiss. “What has gotten into you?”

“You, John. You have.” And he went back for more, pulling John closer, pulling his hair and yanking his shirt up, trying to get it over his head without unbuttoning it. “What you did, what you helped Margaret do…” He trailed off, hands now seeking John’s belt buckle and flies. “We usually only get to see the end of life, we get called when it’s too late. This time we were there for the beginning. The very beginning. I’ve never seen anything like it. Magnificent!”

John, tangled up in his own shirt, understood. He finally got what had Sherlock so worked up. The thrill of a clean win; no broken marriage, loss of property or life. No having to sham to get to the truth. The truth was just there.

“You see now, don’t you? Sometimes there is no puzzle, and that is fine.” John got his shirt the rest of the way off and kissed the man that he loved. “Sometimes the mystery is one that has been solved before, over and over, forever, but it is still new. Still exciting.”

Sherlock was still holding onto John, pressing his hard cock into John’s hip. “Please?” He asked. John took one of Sherlock’s hands and pressed it to his own stiff prick, “What do you think?” 

They fell onto John’s old bed. It wasn’t made for two, but at the moment, neither cared. Clothes were un-tucked, un-zipped, and finally removed. They lay naked against each other exploring with tongues and fingers, kissing necks, biting shoulders until Sherlock couldn’t take it anymore. He took the lead, becoming more demanding in his touches, rolling his weight on top of John and settling between his legs. 

Their cocks were slippery and he took both in one elegant hand and began to stroke. Long deliberate pulls on velvet-soft skin over hardened flesh. Each slicked with the other’s pre-come. It was glorious. They fit together so well these two. John had his hands under Sherlock’s armpits to help him slid up and down his body.

“Sherlock, I’m going to come all over us if you keep that up.” John’s breath was coming in short gasps.

“Would you rather come somewhere else?” Sherlock let go because he knew his doctor very well. He knew John loved being in his mouth. There was no need for John to ever ask; Sherlock was always more than willing to suck him off. He slithered down the bed, dragging John with him until he was kneeling on the floor with John’s strong legs dangling over his shoulders. 

“Mmm” Sherlock hummed, pausing a moment take in the man that was John Watson. The fine dusting hair below his belly button and on his legs, turned golden by the light from the bed table. The smell of John - clean and very male – always made Sherlock want to lick all of John’s secret places. The twisted scar that no matter how hard Sherlock tried to, he could never smooth away. His pink nipples, his ticklish feet, his soft skin. His blue eyes. His hard and leaking cock.

He ran his tongue out over his cupid’s bow lips to wet them (and to tease John, just a bit) and slid his mouth down, closing his eyes moaning as he went. 

Both of John’s hands buried themselves in the unruly curls of dark auburn hair. His back arched off the bed as he thrust into the warm wetness of Sherlock’s mouth. “Unngh, fuck that feels good.” His toes curled. “Sher, ah, ah. Oh. Jesus. Don’t you stop, Oh God, don’t you stop.” Sherlock had no intention of stopping, but he did slow down. Holding John with one hand he dragged his mouth up and off of John to swirl his tongue around the flushed head of his prick and then slide back down. He could feel John get even harder, swelling in his hand and mouth. Once more… And John’s body stilled as he came in his love’s mouth, sweet and slightly astringent, groaning “Sherlock” expansively as he did.

Sherlock swallowed and made sure there wasn’t anything left clinging to John. Satisfied things were cleaned up, he climbed back up on the bed, pushing John just far enough so that he had room for himself. He leaned down and gave John a slow open-mouthed kiss. John never minded kissing Sherlock afterwards, it was only part of himself after all, and it seemed to turn Sherlock on quite a bit.

“I want to be in you, may I?” He whispered into John’s ear.

“Of course, anything you want. You know that.” John bloodstream was awash with neuro-hormones and was high as a kite on pleasure. “Always anything…”

Sherlock leaned up to dig through the drawer of the bed table. He knew there would be lube there. Once in hand he slicked his fingers and began to open John up. It was easy work, since John was already so relaxed. He was, in point of fact almost passed out.

“John, ready?” It wasn’t really a request or a warning, but a statement to bring John back to the task at hand.

“Yesss, take what you need,” and he let his legs fall open and brought his knees up. Presenting him self for the taking.

Sherlock wet himself with the lube and slipped into John’s body in one steady push. Like the man it was attached to, Sherlock’s penis was slender and long and perfect. 

John loved the way it felt to be taken by Sherlock. Not just a sensation of being filled, but being completed. Being fulfilled. Connected. Every time, it took him by surprise.

He pressed himself down onto the cock inside him and looked at the man above him, holding Sherlock’s gaze. John nodded and Sherlock began to move, trying to get as far into John as he could. Bottoming out on every slow deliberate stroke. 

Sex between these two was always good, and sometimes it was damned spectacular. This time was different, more intense. Eyes locked, they never looked away. This was their religion; they worshiped each other. God or the wonders of science were nothing compared to the love these men shared. When they were together like this, joined in such an intimate way, nothing else mattered. This was truth and beauty, sacrifice and trust and respect. One mind one heart. Love.

They took their time and let the moment spin out before them. Sighs and murmured declarations of love passed between them as they collided into each other again and again. 

All the delicious friction had John hard again. “John, can you come again?” Sherlock asked. He was on the brink and wanted to come, but not without John.

“Yes, yes. I want to come with you.” He took himself in hand and stroked, “how close are you, love?”

“Very, so very…” Sherlock finally closed his eyes and quickened his pace, “There, yes there…” His skin was rosy and warm. Sweat dampened hair stuck to his face. John stroked some off his forehead with his free hand.

“Sherlock, look at me. I’m going to come and I want you to see.” John took in a deep breath and held it, pumping his fist faster. He was nodding, “Now, oh now nownow,” He cried out Sherlock’s name as he came, spilling over his hand and his stomach. The cry was almost a sob, the raw emotion overwhelming him.

Sherlock was just beginning to pulse inside John as he was saying “nownownow”. John was looking at him, watching him right back as they came together. Hearing the way John said his name brought up a sound from inside himself that was equal parts need, triumph and joy. To John, it just sounded beautiful. 

His arms shaking, Sherlock lowered himself down onto John. They were quiet for a few moments, letting the aftershocks run their course. Once Sherlock had slipped free of John’s body he moved to lay next to him. He pulled John to him and pressed a kiss to his mouth. “John, I love you.”

“I love you, too. So much, Sherlock.”

*

What had happened earlier in the day had a profound effect on both of them.

For John, it was seeing Sherlock holding Maggie’s son. His heart ached for something he knew he wanted and until that moment didn’t realize he would probably never have. God but he loved Sherlock and sharing his life with him. He chose this life and wouldn’t trade it for the world. But by choosing Sherlock he also chose to let go of things he could have had.

For Sherlock, the event focused something in his mind that had worried him over the course of their relationship. He knew John had given up so much by being with him. Most of all, a family. He caught the pained look on John’s face while holding the tiny new-born boy in his arms. In that look he saw the life John had left behind.

“John, did you ever want children?” Sherlock asked in the safety of the darkened room. John had told him the he’d been married for a brief time while he was “dead”, and that his wife had died. He already knew what John’s answer would be.

“Yes, very much. Mary and I had decided to try for a baby. We thought we hit the bull’s-eye on the first try, but it turned out it was cancer. Ovarian cancer. She died a little over a year after we were married.” He had loved Mary as much for who she was as for what she did for him. She saved him from Sherlock’s ghost. Helped him get on with the business of living without dismissing how important his time with Sherlock had been. “She was lovely, you know. I think you would have liked her. I think she always knew that I loved you.” He went silent for a little while.

When he spoke again he said, “You know, I always wondered if someday a miniature version of you would be standing at our door step.” This was something that bothered John.

Sherlock had of course confided in him about the whole of the Irene Adler affair. The fact that Sherlock had saved her life in Karachi and she was very much alive and living… somewhere. 

“No John, she had been surgically sterilized.”

“Did she tell you that?” John asked.

“No, I knew the first time we met her.” Sherlock shifted in bed a little, he knew John would pursue this to the end.

“How?” He remembered the day they met the Woman, vividly. She had been stark naked, practically straddling Sherlock’s lap. The idea popped in his mind like a bubble. “Ohhh, you saw her scar! Her laparotomy scar. Am I right?”

“Well done, Doctor. Yes. I was much closer to her ‘attributes’ than you were and her navel was basically on eye level, I couldn’t help but notice.”

“So, you never had sex with her?” This thought had occasionally niggled at the back of John’s mind: images of Irene putting her hands on Sherlock’s body, or her mouth on him, or him sliding into her body. He held his breath waiting for an answer.

Sherlock hugged his doctor closer, “No, John. It has only ever been you.” He kissed the top of John’s head. “Only you.”

They located the duvet that had wound up on the floor. John pulled it up and over them. They curled together under it, warm and safe.

“The rain has stopped.” John commented as they were drifting off to sleep.

 

To be continued…

 

(Author’s note: I have done a story that describes Mary and John’s wedding - “A Sunny Day in July”, and another about Mary’s subsequent death – that I haven’t posted here. I’m currently working on getting my LiveJournal and AO3 accounts sorted so all the stories will be there and in some sort of order.)


	5. Left

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John laughed, “That is the most amazing, blissfully domestic thing I have ever heard you say.”

The first thing that Sherlock thought upon waking the next morning was that the light was wrong.

Oh, right, we’re in John’s room.

The second thing was the sound of a baby crying downstairs.

“John, the baby is crying.” He mumbled into John’s hair.

John laughed, “That is the most amazing, blissfully domestic thing I have ever heard you say.”

“Yes, well. Why is the baby crying?” he was still mumbling into John’s hair. It was nice there; soft and it smelled like John.

“He’s probably hungry. They do that when they want to let you know they need something.” John rolled over and kissed Sherlock. “Maggie is probably in the shower or getting herself something to eat. Get dressed and come downstairs.” 

John got up and pulled on the clothes he was wearing the day before. “Ugh, we need showers ourselves. We’re both a mess.” He turned and left.

He stepped into the kitchen expecting to see Maggie, but she wasn’t there. He knocked on the bedroom door and called “Maggie? Is everything alright?”

Sherlock had caught up with him. John pushed the door open and saw the baby on their bed, carefully bordered by the pillows. His tiny fists were balled up and his face was beet red. “Crying” was a kind word for what he was doing. He seemed furious.

“My God, John. Is he alright?” Sherlock had covered his ears. “Is she in the shower?”

“I don’t thinks so. The water is off.” John went to the bathroom door. It was open a few inches and he tapped it, “Maggie, you alright?”

No answer.

“John. Come here.” Sherlock was sitting on the bed holding a piece of paper in his hand. “She left.”

“What?” John came over and looked at the paper. It was a letter from Maggie. He picked up the crying boy and tried to soothe him. “Well, what’s it say?”

Sherlock read:

_Dear Mr. Holmes and John,_

_I’m sorry. I can’t take care of this baby the way he deserves. I have no home, no job and my family wouldn’t take me back, especially not with baby in tow._

_Please make sure he gets a good home. There must be lots of people looking to adopt a baby._

_I just can’t do this. Please don’t look for me. I gave birth to him, but you can’t make me be his mother. I’m sorry._

_Thank you for helping me._

_Maggie Y._

 

The men sat and stared at the letter. 

“Can you find her?” John asked.

“She requested we not look. If I ask my network, they will not give her up.” Sherlock reached to brush his finger over the baby’s cheek. An idea was growing in his mind.

“Oh God, this little guy needs to eat. Here, hold him while I make up a bottle.” John handed the infant to his husband and kissed both of their foreheads.

Sherlock watched him go and thought, John wants a family. I want John to have a family. This baby needs a family. Could this work?

The baby was still crying when John came back with the bottle. He sat back down on the bed, “Here, give him to me.” He held out his hands for the baby but Sherlock didn’t give him over. To John’s surprise he took the bottle and offered it to the infant.

The baby took the nipple and began to make lusty, happy slurping sounds as he ate.

Sherlock looked over and said, “Close your mouth John. I had younger cousins. I have fed a baby before.”

“You never cease to amaze me, love.” He nudged Sherlock a little with his shoulder. “He was starving, look at him go.”

“John, we could keep him.” The statement was a whisper.

“I’m sorry, I must be going deaf. Say that again?” 

Sherlock cleared his throat, “I said, we could keep him. Really John, close your mouth.” Sherlock continued and laid out his argument.

“You said last night you wanted children. Your happiness is of great importance to me. No matter what you say to the contrary, I know that you gave up children to be with me and I feel I have robbed you of that opportunity. This baby being born here is the perfect solution to that. Right now, he has no one. We can make him ours.”

John let that process for a moment. “Sherlock, we can’t just take him in like a stray puppy. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Mycroft can help. He can navigate the legalities and push the paperwork through.” Sherlock shifted the baby a bit, who was finishing the bottle and drifting off just a bit. “John, this is perfect. If you were really serious, this is perfect.”

“Yes, I was serious. But we could adopt – “

Sherlock cut him off, “What adoption agency would give us, well, me specifically, a child? They’d take one look at this place and turn us down flat.”

John snorted laughter at that. “Yeah, I can see your point there. ‘Formula in with the fingers and eyes? No baby for you’.”

“And since neither of us can impregnate the other, this is ideal.” 

“Well, what about surrogacy? You didn’t mention that option.” Other than the financial part of it, John thought that could be an alternative.

“Waiting. Why wait? This baby is here, now. Surrogacy could take time.” Sherlock was getting a little manic about this and it worried John.

“Look, love, I appreciate the fact that you want me, sorry, us to have the opportunity to have children, but this isn’t some experiment that you are conducting. This is a person, a person who didn’t ask for this situation. He needs what is best for him. I’m not sure that we are what he needs.” John couldn’t believe he was saying this. He did want children, badly.

“But John, you will make an exceptional father. You have made such a huge difference in my life. Don’t you see? You have taught me so much. You will be able to do that for him, too. Together I think we would be exceptional parents.”

“Let me think about it. Alright? This is very sudden. What do we do about working, hmm? Did you consider that? We can’t just hare off at a moment’s notice when a case presents itself. And what about your experiments? This place is a chemical burn or an accidental poisoning waiting to happen.” He paused. “We can’t just go from ‘you and I’ to ‘parents’ overnight. We need to think about this. Yes?”

“Well, I think it is a fine idea.” 

Neither of them heard Mrs. Hudson let herself in. She was standing just outside the bedroom, arms crossed and feet planted squarely. 

“How long have you been there?” John asked. He felt like he was eight and got caught doing something he shouldn’t by his mother.

“Long enough to hear you rattle off reasons why you think you shouldn’t be parents to this baby. You over looked a few things. Honestly, don’t think you’d be alone doing this. You have each other and you have your friends. Myself, Molly and Greg. Doctor Stamford and his wife. Friends are the family you choose.”

She let that sink in a bit.

“You also forgot that there is a perfectly serviceable flat that Sherlock can move his ‘lab’ into. 221C is yours, if you want it.” 

The men sat and thought bout that. The vacant apartment would do for Sherlock’s make-shift lab. John’s old room could be a nursery. 

“I could go back to locum work.” John said after a moment.

“I’m up till all hours. So the overnight feedings will be taken care of.” Sherlock added.

“And I can watch him anytime you need.” Mrs. Hudson smiled, “and, just in case you forgot, Mrs. Turner’s married ones adopted a baby too. So you are not going to be on your own. There will be loads of help, right close by.”

“You see, John, we can do this. I want this for you, for us.” Sherlock put the bottle down and handed he baby to John. Kissing his cheek, “Let’s have a baby.”

“I never thought I’d say this to a man, but yes. Sherlock, let’s have a baby.”

 

*

 

John gave his notice at the A&E that day. Sherlock contacted “Uncle” Mycroft to inform him of his new status and to get the paperwork in place to legally adopt Margaret’s baby.

The adoption papers and birth certificate forms arrived by courier the next morning. The baby’s father was listed as ‘unknown’ and the mother’s name was filled in as ‘Margaret Young – deceased’. Mycroft had no problem faking another death.

All they needed was to choose a name. And that proved to be harder than either of the new fathers thought.


	6. Finally, A Name.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We need to pick something, Uncle Mycroft needs it for the paperwork.”

“ _Ajax_ ,” Sherlock said.

“No. _Adair_.” John countered. 

“ _Baldric_.” 

“God no. _Benedict_.”

“In your words, ‘God no’. _Cosgrove_. It means ‘victorious’”

“Yuck. _Christopher_.”

“Boring. _Daedalus_.” Sherlock grinned. “He designed King Minos’ labyrinth.”

“Do you want him beaten up everyday? _Declan_.”

“Not bad. _Everton_. It’s Old English.”

“Meh. _Ewen_.” John liked Ewen quite a bit. “Its Scottish.”

“ _Freeman_.” 

John shot him a look, “Really? No. _Fergus_.” They both shook their heads.

“ _Gladstone_.” 

“I had a dog named Gladstone, so, no. _Graham_.”

“Like the guy on BBC2? Nope. _Hadrian_.”

John threw a magazine at him, “No!” Remembering what he’d said to Irene, “ _Hamish_.”

“I like Hamish.” Sherlock smiled. “ _Isaac_.”

“As in Newton? I see where you’re going. _Ian_.”

“Blah. _John_.” Sherlock loved John’s name. It suited him.

“That would make things too confusing. _Joseph_.” 

“I don’t like ‘Joe’,” Sherlock said. “ _Kepler_.”

“Like the astronomer? You’ve been reading up on the solar system. Nope. _Kyle_.”

“Too American. _Loki_.”  


“One god of mischief is enough in this house. No. _Lauriston_.” He was going for sentiment.

“No case references, please. _Martin_.” John gave him another look.

“No. _Merrick_.”

“ _Newton_.”

“I see where you’re going again. No. _Nicholas_.”

“No. _Oberon_.”

“King of the Fairies? No. _Owen_.”

“ _Pascal_. Philosopher.” Sherlock grinned.

“ _Peter._ Saint.” John shot back.

“ _Quinlan_.” Sherlock and John said at once. Hmm.

“ _Rattigan_. Playwright.”

“And his nick name will be include some version of ‘rat’? Absolutely not. _Rory_.”

“Is that even a name? _Sherrinford_.”

John groaned, “Is _that_ even a name? _Stephen_.”

“ _Theobald_.”

“God, Sherlock, nothing with the word ‘bald’ in it. Okay? _Teagan_.”

“ _Undershaw_.” Sherlock tossed out.

“ _Underhill_.” John threw back. Sherlock scowled at that. “So, nothing with ‘U’.”

“ _Vernet_. French painter.”

“ _Victor_.” Sherlock’s face fell. “Oh, right. I’m sorry. _Vincent_. Another painter.”

“ _Winthrop_.”

“ _Wesley_.”

“ _Xanthus_. It means ‘golden-haired.” Sherlock thought that fit.  


John cringed. “ _Xander_ , means ‘man’s defender’.”

“ _Yeats_. Poet.”

John saw the skull on the mantle, “ _Yorick_.” He was running out of ideas.

“Not funny. _Zane_.”

“ _Zachary_. Well that’s the whole alphabet, Sherlock. Do you like anything?” The task of choosing a name for their son ( _their_ son, he marveled) was a lot harder than John thought it could be.

“Why can’t we just name him after you? You delivered him.” Sherlock was just as baffled as John about picking a name for the boy who was, almost, legally theirs. 

“Because, like I said ‘John Watson-Holmes’ is already in use, and it will get confusing as he gets older. And personally, I don’t like the idea of ‘junior’.”

“Why didn’t Margaret name him before she left him? That would have made this easier.”

“She probably didn’t want to get that connected to him. I feel she knew she’d be leaving him with us from the moment she fell through our front door.” John didn’t like to make her out to be cold and calculating, because she was a sweet girl. She was pretty strong, when you thought about it. She went through her entire pregnancy alone, and was brave enough to know her son would have a better life without her.

“We need to pick something, Uncle Mycroft needs it for the paperwork.” Sherlock put extra emphasis on ‘uncle’.

“I’ll never get used to that. Brings a whole new dimension to the expression ‘say uncle’ when you stop and think of what he does. So, what do we tell him?”

In the end, they decided on a name from the Holmes’ family tree, a name that spoke to John’s Scottish heritage and something extra, because Sherlock insisted.

The forms were filed and on April 15, 2016, Sherrinford Ewan Beckett Watson-Holmes was officially, legally theirs.

They call him Ewan. 

John calls him ‘Bumble’.

In time Ewan will call them Da-Da, Daddy, Dad and Father. Mean, boring and wrong. Annoying dick and unfair bastard. Loving, patient, sincere, brilliant, kind and the best men he ever knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beckett is an old English name that means "bee hive" or "bee cottage". It seemed to fit.


End file.
